Montaña del Condenada
by Excelsior Skyy
Summary: angst! Frodo's (half-conscious) POV from Mount Doom. No Slash--just true to Tolkien emotion
1. Montaña del Condenada 1

* click *  
  
Okay, listen up all you Copyright Nazis: Lord of the Rings and all characters within do not belong to me in any size, shape or form! If you go and do something silly like, say, sue me, I'd be rather displeased and might have to give you a flamer. A bad one. With words in it like FAT! And STUPID! And YOU ARE THE WORST WRITER ON EARTH! And I might even refuse you your soup. I know. It's a little harsh, but these things must be done.  
  
End.  
  
*click *  
  
Montaña del Condenada  
  
So tired. . . so tired. . .we have been walking in this wilderness, my Sam and I, what seems like an eternity. The Ring . . . the Eye; I can feel it upon me; it watches me and I cannot escape it. It knows what I am doing, there's little doubt. It calls to me in my dreams, and in my wake, It sends Its servants to hunt me to my death . . . .  
  
. . . I feel I can go no farther; no, not one step more. My feet resist any orders I give to them as the Ring drags me ever to the ground, doing its worst to keep me from my destination. I am so tired . . . why won't It just take me and let me rest? No.there will be no rest - I must keep going.  
  
But Sam, oh my good Sam, dearer to me than all Hobbits! . . . though I cannot always see him, I know he is here with me. I can feel his arms about me as I walk and sense his presence next to me when I sleep. I have a premonition he has been withholding his share of the food for me, yet he still manages on, keeping his old, weary master on his feet even when he has no will himself. Where I would be had I left him there on the shores of the Anduin, I do not rightly know - dead most likely, though that is where I would rather be - oh Sam, Sam, what have I led you into? What turmoil has one innocent observation put upon your heart, even for my sake, that can never be driven away? And you bind yourself to me, to death, and I know you must fear tomorrow, (should it come), as I fear every drawing minute of the day. But you still love me. How can you be so steadfast, my dearest Sam?  
  
My eyes are closing now . . . no amount of strength could prop them open. The Ring burns my flesh and it pains me . . . but it is so precious I could not stand to leave it for one moment. I feel Sam's hand taking mine, his lips brushing against my fingers . . . I must have been grasping again. I can't control it any longer. All my power has been bent towards staying alive, walking forward that I can no longer spare any for control for these digits. We have stopped. He is saying something . . . sleep? Is it finally time to sleep? No . . . no sleep, not yet. I must eat. The lembas taste like nothing but the water refreshes my throat, which has parched without my knowledge. One more swallow, he presses, and I submit wearily, reciting my mantra about sleep all the while. Finally he allows me to lie down, his cloak under my head. I stretch myself out on the cold ground, feeling time and space stand still about me. I drift off, but this does not suppress the evil thoughts that cascade into my mind. The Eye. The fire. The Ring. Demon faces, dark lands, black hands clutch at the chain around my neck. I tremble, partly from the cold of the night, partly from the mere sight of those hands which lunge out at me. But what is this? Warmth? There is a comforting warmth all around me . . . is it another dream? How could it be . . . the flames of the eye give off no heat and my dreams no longer contain comfort . . . I sigh. The dreams wrathfully continue playing in my mind. Oh but should this night end and my sleep extend for eternity!  
  
*** 


	2. Montaña del Condenada 2

The dawn does break dimly and I uneasily escape from the darkness. My eyelids flutter and I find myself in the warm arms of Sam, my face buried in his chest. His breath is staggered and I can feel each shaky inhale and exhale of the putrid air; he is awake, too. Upon my soul I do not wish to leave and I close my eyes quickly in defense, but it's inevitable. We're moving on whether I'm able or no. Gently he releases me and slowly gets to his feet, muttering to himself as usual. Eyes clenched, I lay in wait of what is to come next; he touches my arm, shaking all chances of further slumber. I groan and force myself into a sitting position, then almost to standing - but my legs cannot hold me and I collapse to my knees. Curse it all. Curse this ring, curse that mountain; curse that I ever existed. What am I supposed to do now? Sam has brought me too far to quit . . . and it all mocks me. Everything hurts; everything is weak; I can not walk for the life of me. There is no logic in my mind any longer, just the idea of getting onto that bloody mountain. I bite my lip and begin to crawl clumsily, elbows bending in odd positions as I move. Sam does not follow after me, but I don't care. If he decides to let me go, all the better, and further guilt is not placed upon my heart. Instead, he reaches out for me, coming to my aid once again.  
  
"Come Mr. Frodo. I can't carry It for you, but I can carry you and It as well. So up you get. Come Mr. Frodo dear.."  
  
The rest of his words fade out again and I watch as his mouth moves blankly. His eyes are sad as he takes me and places me on his back, and like a helpless child I comply, my legs wrapping about his waist. We start off, but everything is hazy, and the battle of the ring starts up inside me again. With my arms dangling over Sam's shoulders, I dare not reach for the ring now..  
. . . We've stopped moving. I open my eyes to find that we're higher up on the slope than before, but the dank brown land still hovers far too close below.  
  
::How long has he been carrying me?::  
  
The air is comparably better to the stenches and fumes that lurked back down there, and I inhale hungrily. Carefully Sam lays me down upon the ungrateful earth, and I make a resolve to say something, anything. Sam has been too good to me to deny him at least part of my gratitude.  
  
"Thank you, Sam." My voice cracks from disuse and lack of water. "How far is there to go?"  
  
He sighs and looks farther up the mountain, "I don't know . . . because . . . I don't know where we're going."  
  
He shakes his curls hopelessly. What *are* we going to do? Before this, I had just concentrated on getting to Mount Doom itself, and figured we'd decide what to do if we got there. But we're here, so now what shall we do? Even now the ring grows heavy upon my breast..  
  
::Can I possibly stand a few more hours being lost on a mountain?::  
  
I doubt it greatly.  
  
::Maybe this is a sign.maybe the whole journey was just to show me  
that I, Frodo, need the ring? Maybe it's for the best that we never  
get to the fires themselves . . . Just perhaps---::  
  
"Why, it might have been put there a-purpose! If it wasn't, I'd have to say I was beaten in the end."  
  
My thoughts are shattered by Sam's outburst to himself, and all my previous concepts smothered. This is all he says before he lays flat beside me, looking pained. I am too tired now to be intrigued any longer and decide to simply enjoy the slight rest we're having together. I glance in his direction. His eyes are closed and his brow is damp with perspiration, but there I can see determination of the strongest kind. There is little peace there, however; none of the blissful hobbit he used to be remains visible. It strains my heart to think of my Sam without a witty remark, without a pleasant smile on his round face. It also makes me realize . . . just how much I love him. And I do. He maybe a simple gardener, but no gardener has been such a loyal, worthy companion and friend than Samwise Gamgee. And Bilbo, bless his soul, would be more than happy to write a book about him, I do believe.  
  
But my mind and body is weary. The Ring is calling. Sleep will not come. A strange feeling of urgency is in the air, as if I don't do what I was called to do soon, it will all be for naught.  
  
::Now, now, or it will be too late!::  
  
Sam has felt it too . . . he sits up suddenly, as if called from a dream. He braces himself and stands, shaking off the ache that must linger in his back from his long hours of lugging. I can do no more than get to my knees.  
  
"I'll crawl, Sam," I gasp harshly. The moment my body moves forward, everything inside me seems to crunch and crumble, like a long-dead ember, as the Ring pulls me angrily towards its master. Sam leads me to the path he had exclaimed about earlier and I am glad to see it. Like insects we must look, creeping along in the ashes and dust, but I'd rather be here, closer to the ground than up where He can see us. And I know He is looking for me. Slowly I turn and face him in his Eastern realm, as if something draws me to him, just to make sure . . . .  
  
But, where the clouds were a minute ago, they are no longer! Oh Barad-dûr! Most evil of places . . . and the Eye . . . it is there, it calls to me! It calls! Without warning, my knees give out and I tumble to the ground, calling out in my mind for Sam, but he can not hear me! My hand twitches as I fight it away from the chain --- at last the words break from my tongue, barely above a whisper,  
  
"Help me, Sam! Help me, Sam! Hold my hand! I can't stop it!"  
  
How close I am to putting on the Ring and vanishing forever! It has all its mind set on taking me, but I will not be taken! And Sam, good Sam comes to me in an instant and draws my hand down quietly. He captures my quaking palms and sets them together, kissing them soothingly and then gathering them into his own warm grasp. He looks at me for an instant or two, as if hit by a thought, and pulls me onto his back again, pulling my hands to his chest and letting my feet dangle. It is not an easy path to climb, but I can't imagine what it is like carrying the burden of another. My scar has begun to throb as we draw nearer to the place the weapon who made it itself was wrought. I bite my lip until I can taste the metallic flavour of blood spilling into my mouth, but the pain will not ease! From the corner of my eye I see something tumbling, a piece of stone perhaps, from the cleft above us, but something is queer about it, though I can't place my finger on it.  
  
* click *  
  
~ To be Continued at some point or another. Maybe. Buwahahaha! It's so depressing. And you could just read the book if you really cared, right? Sure you could - don't give me that look!  
  
~ And for my two wonderful reviewers, you are the love of my life! I'm new at the formatting, so you'll have to forgive me. Once I figure out how all this works, I'll be nice and tidy and easy to read!  
  
* click* 


End file.
